Children of Hope

by Michael Fine

  Her mind raced, spinning and spiraling. Within just over two weeks—sixteen days, she realized, doing the math in her head—she’d gone off the rails. She had been just a few months away from finishing her residency, from graduating Medical School! She’d almost certainly alienated Faye at the lab; she’d simply left her boss and friend a note that said she would be away for two weeks to a month, with no explanation. And despite her uncertainty about Billy, the man was sweet and patient, and did look a bit like Prince William. She hadn’t answered any of his texts since she’d been gone. What could she say? “Oh, don’t worry, I’m off doing something idiotic and will likely be in prison soon, but have a great day.”

  She had failed so spectacularly it left her unable to process her situation. For her entire academic career—from elementary school to med school—she was always able to get straight As. She’d been trained by her mother and by “the system” to make sure she made very, very few errors. And none of those mistakes could be significant; there is no room for making a big, hairy, audacious mistake in the U.S. school system. Yet, when she took stock of the past two weeks, she felt like she should congratulate herself for just how spectacularly she had failed. Space Shuttle Challenger ball of fire failed.

  Not that her efforts really ever had a chance. She flashed on that thought clearly now. What was she thinking? That a ragtag team of five people stood a chance to pull of her hair-brained scheme? It didn’t help that Eddie Townsend turned out to be a crackhead, of course, but her plan was doomed before she even started. How did she not see that? At least Quinn and Sanam got away, she thought, assuming Eddie didn’t blab his mouth off at some point. But Charlie. Poor Charlie. He was her only true friend in the world, agreeing to go through with her plans as she made them up by the seat of her pants, knowing the likely outcome yet staying by her side through everything. Poor Charlie.

  She realized she must have dozed because the next thing she knew, the sky had grown dim. She shot upright and checked her phone to see what time it was. She quickly crammed her belongings into her suitcase, carefully placed the artificial womb in her carry-on bag, washed her face and brushed her teeth, and went downstairs to check out. Charlie had instructed everyone to make their hotel reservations through the end of the weekend so they could lay low if needed and Hope had done as he recommended. Now it looked like she would not need the full reservation. Standing in line at the shoddy front desk in the rundown lobby, she teared up again, realizing that Charlie was likely in a cage while she was about to fly back to California. Still, she knew what she needed to do, and her first stop was back home. She dumped a garbage bag full of her surgical equipment in the dumpster behind the hotel before she got into her rental car and headed for the airport.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Saturday, March 3 (the next day)

  Hope’s Apartment

  Redwood City, California

  12 days before vote on the Sanctity of Life bill

  Except for waking once at some point and eating half of a tuna fish sandwich, leaving the rest uneaten on her kitchen table, Hope slept most of Saturday. It was almost dark out when she finally woke and took a shower. She was unpacking when she heard a knock at her apartment door. She figured the only two people it could possibly be were Charlie and Billy, but Charlie was most likely in a jail cell, and Billy probably wouldn’t talk to her ever again, given how badly she’d ignored him for the past two weeks. Could it be the police or FBI? Would Charlie have told them about her? No. Could they have identified her from video surveillance, despite her fake ID? Possible.

  “Who is it?” she asked through the locked and chained door, trying to keep her voice from cracking.

  “Hi, Hope. It’s me, Billy. Can I come in?”

  Hope, realizing she’d been holding her breath, took a few breaths to regulate her breathing, then unchained the door, turned the deadbolt, and opened the door.

  “Come in.” She closed the door behind Billy after he crossed into her apartment. What kind of glutton for punishment was this sad sack?

  “Before you yell at me,” Billy said as soon as Hope turned from the door, “I know you don’t like it when people come over unannounced.” He glanced at her apartment, which he had never seen in any condition other than spotless, and saw the half-eaten sandwich and an empty glass on the table. He also saw the unpacking in progress in her bedroom.

  “Just get back?”

  “No. Late last night.”

  “Jesus. Are you alright?” Billy knew that if Hope had been home for a day and hadn’t already unpacked and had left dirty dishes out, something was likely very wrong. And given what she’d confided in him, he feared that things could be very, very bad indeed.

  “I’m fine. Really,” Hope lied. She was just so tired, and didn’t want to deal with… with whatever this was with Billy. Even on her best day, Hope knew she was damaged goods.

  “Christ, Hope!” Billy said, his voice raised for the first time Hope could remember. “You summon me to talk with you two or three weeks ago up on that infernal mountain,” he said, referring to the hill atop which the 150-foot-diameter dish sits. “You tell me you’re going to drop out of med school just a few months from the end of your residency. I mean, who does that? Then you suddenly ask me to watch your cat. Then… nothing. You go dark. You don’t even have the decency to return a single fucking text message.” He was angry and, for the first time, showing it.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Hope said, lamely.

  “First, how about ‘sorry.’ Sorry for worrying you. Sorry for being so selfish and focused on your capital ‘P’ Plan for not letting me know you were still alive.”

  Hope dropped her head and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. She knew Billy was right. Well, except for assuming she’d had anything resembling a plan in Washington, or had one now.

  Before Hope could say anything, Billy continued. “Second, how about telling me how you are? How you really are.” Billy’s voice was still raised, and tears welled up in his eyes. “I’ve been working crazy hours at the hospital—the new network backbone goes live on Monday, not that you care—and I had to spend yesterday and today helping my mom, who has to go through another round of chemo, not that you care. So I have no idea what’s happening with you, with your ‘extracurricular activities.’ I stopped by, like I’ve been doing every day for the past three weeks to feed Xander and clean his shit box. So, great, you’re back. Glad to see you’re alive.”

  “Billy—”

  “Save it. I gotta go. Have a nice life, Hope.” He dropped the key she’d loaned him on the small table near the front door.

  And with that, Billy left, gently closing the door behind him.

  Hope sat at her kitchen table for what felt like an eternity. Several times, she picked up the remaining half of her sandwich, only to let it drop to the plate untouched. Billy was right about everything, she realized. She had not been fair to him, no matter what her excuses or reasons.

  “I’ve really cocked things up, haven’t I?” Hope said to Angel’s urn. “I blew it in Washington and I blew it with Billy, too, didn’t I?” Angel didn’t answer.

  Finally, around 11:00 p.m., she finished unpacking. Most of her clothes went into her laundry bin. She hung her new blue suit in her closet, thinking of the money she would save from not having to dry clean it, despite its wrinkles, while wondering whether she would ever get another chance to wear it.

  Suddenly, she realized she hadn’t heard Xander the entire time she’d been home. She looked at the bowls of food and water that sat just inside the kitchen. Both were full. She’d asked Billy to feed Xander up until the fifteenth, the date of the planned vote on the ‘Sanctity of Life’ bill, figuring that one way or the other, things would be over by then, and she was confident Billy had come reliably. A thought popped into her head: What would happen to Xander when she went away to prison?

  She looked around the kitchen and living room, calling out Xander’s name. She did not see hi
m, and got no response. She checked in her bedroom, including under the bed. Again, nothing. Finally, she went into her tiny bathroom. God, she hated how cramped the tiny room was. When she walked past the counter and shower, to where the toilet was, she saw Xander, laying curled around the back of the toilet. He did not respond when she called out his name.

  Hope carefully reached around the toilet and pulled Xander into her lap. Angel’s kitty, purchased that fateful day at the fair, was gone, and so too was her last remaining living connection to her baby sister. For what felt like the umpteenth time in the past few days, Hope curled up in the fetal position and sobbed.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sunday, March 4 (the next day)

  Stanford Dish near Stanford University

  Stanford, California

  11 days before vote on the Sanctity of Life bill

  Hope spent Sunday morning making calls to all of the waitresses and cooks who worked at the Pancake Shack. Without telling them the details, she told them that Charlie was likely going to be away for quite some time, but that she wanted them to re-open the restaurant and keep it running for him. She instructed everyone to meet her at the restaurant the following morning at nine. She could only imagine the legal bills Charlie was going to face, and figured that he’d be happy to have the extra money. Plus, it felt like it would be a symbolic victory of a sort.

  During the day, Hope scrubbed her apartment. A layer of dust had settled after more than two weeks away, plus she was embarrassed that Billy had noticed what a sty her place was. Really, though, Hope admitted to herself the truth: her cleansing rituals, both at home and in the operating room, were therapeutic. Cleaning now, given everything that had happened and was going to happen, gave her a sense of control and order despite her life having spun out of control.

  Her knees sore and her hands raw from too much Pine Sol, Hope showered and put on her jogging gear. She drove to the Dish area, parked, and stretched. She ran up the hill, walked back down, and ran up again. Exhausted, she sat on a flat patch near the top and watched as the sun set in the distance. She willed herself not to cry.

  “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” asked a voice from behind her. She turned and saw that it was Billy.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. Quickly realizing he might think she didn’t want him there, she added, “I mean, hi. It’s nice to see you.” After a beat she added, “I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see you again… I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

  Billy sat down a few feet away from Hope. “I finally watched the news for the first time in days. I heard the news from Washington, and figured it had something to do with you. You know the man they took into custody, don’t you?”

  Hope nodded. “Charlie.” Billy and Hope had eaten together at the restaurant several times, and she’d introduced Billy to Charlie, who’d ribbed her about Billy’s boyish good looks for months.

  “How are you here? I mean…”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you someday. But it’s only temporary. I’ve got one thing to do tomorrow and then I’m going to the FBI. I need to get Charlie out of jail, or at least explain that he wasn’t the mastermind.” She laughed at herself for using that word. As if anyone, especially her, qualified as a mastermind for such a series of unfortunate events.

  “Did you accomplish what you set out to do?”

  “Ha!” Her derisive laugh escaped.

  “It’s not like you to leave something undone, a goal unachieved.” Billy plucked a handful of burrs from his khakis.

  “Thank you, I think,” Hope said. “No, I’m done. I have to turn myself in. If I can get Charlie out, I’m willing to pay the price for my idiocy.”

  “You can’t. You just can’t,” Billy implored. He wiped his hands against his pant legs. “God, I hate it up here. All this long grass and dirt. And bugs. Yuck. Give me an ice cold, sterile data center any day over this.”

  It occurred to Hope that this was not the first time Billy had met her up here.

  “Thank you. For everything.”

  “There’s nothing to thank me for. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m crazy about you. Have been since I first saw you. Likely always will be.”

  Hope blushed.

  “But that’s not why I’m here. We can talk about us—whatever that means—later. Right now, we need to talk about how you can still win.”

  “I can’t win. It’s over,” Hope said, resigned to her fate.

  “It’s not over until the bill is signed into law. You owe it to yourself to fight until then. If you don’t, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

  Hope wanted to argue, but she knew he was right. “How’d you get so smart?”

  “Always been, always will be. You just never noticed, smartypants.”

  “What should I do? Tell me what to do.” She hated herself for how weak she sounded, but she needed whatever help she could get.

  “Can’t you find this bastard and implant a fetus privately, not on camera in front of the world? That part of your original plan was nuts, by the way.”

  Hope ignored the well-deserved criticism and replied, “We never got the switch to work. And without the switch, the explosive device is pretty much worthless. It’s not like I can follow him around and light his fuse if he tries to enter a hospital. I threw everything away.”

  “Did you—”

  “Yes, I disarmed the device before I tossed it into the river. I’m not a monster, you know.”

  “This I know,” Billy said, smiling. God, he had a really cute smile, Hope thought. After a beat, Billy said, “Go back to first principles. Why all that tech in the first place?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, why did you want to arm the womb with the sensor and the explosive?” Before saying the last word, he looked around to make sure nobody was near, and even then he practically whispered the word.

  “Without some kind of safeguard, he could have simply gone in and had my womb removed. He would have been able to undo everything with a simple surgical procedure. I wanted him to have to go through ‘pregnancy’”—she made air quotes with her fingers—”for the full nine months and then have to watch as the unwanted baby came out of his body. I wanted him to have to feel that repulsive feeling, have that memory seared into his brain.”

  “Tell me how you really feel,” Billy said.

  Hope smiled. God, she was beautiful, Billy thought.

  “There’s just one thing you’re forgetting,” Billy said, unable to keep the excitement from his voice.

  “What’s that?”

  “Assuming the ‘Sanctity of Life’ bill passes, it will be the law of the land. Federal law. Abortion will be illegal across the entire country.”

  “Including for him!” Hope exclaimed. The idea that the “Sanctity of Life” law, if passed, would also apply to her victim just hadn’t occurred to her.

  “Yep. I think a pretty good case could be made that that’s what he would be doing: aborting a fetus.”

  “Oh, Billy! I could kiss you!”

  “I think it’s about time,” Billy said, smirking.

  “When this is all over, I’ll do more than that. And that’s a promise,” Hope said, for the first time as excited by the thought as she was terrified. She stood and smacked off the long grass and dirt from her shorts and legs. “Of course, I might not see you for twenty years to life.” She tried to laugh but couldn’t. “Listen, I’ve gotta go,” she said. “I only have a little over a week to somehow pull off a miracle.”

  “Call me,” Billy said. It wasn’t a question.

  “I will,” Hope said. It was a promise.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Saturday, March 10 (six days later)

  Senator Royce Carrington’s Home

  Village of Oyster Bay Cove, Nassau County, New York

  5 days before vote on the Sanctity of Life bill

  Senator Carrington once again began the monthly meeting at exactly
8:00 p.m.

  “Almighty God, we bow before you, and recognize you as our great Savior. We lift our hearts in praise to you, and as your beloved children and your redeemed servants, we lay our lives before you in worship. We ask for your strength that we may be bold proclaimers of your Word. Amen.”

  Reverend Porter Brooks prayed “amen.”

  After ceremoniously burning the old card from the previous month’s meeting, Carrington wrote the number 2151 in his usual elegant style on a fresh card and saved it in his desk drawer. One more monthly meeting of the Benevolent Overlords Society.

  “Want anything?” Carrington asked the Reverend. He poured himself a brandy at the bar.

  “No, I’m good, thanks,” Brooks said, lifting his tumbler of scotch. Carrington always stocked a Laphroaig Islay Single Malt Scotch Whisky that Brooks liked to say was as close to God as anything on earth. He loved its rich floral notes, and its smoke and licorice flavors.

  “Well, with Julian absent, if you want a beer, you’ll be able to have one without having your hand bitten off. That guy is like a frat boy at a kegger half the time.”

  “Can’t say I’m a fan of the man’s drinking, either,” Brooks said.

  “Asking him to join our group may have been a mistake,” Carrington said. His tone was ominous. He sat in the Dragon Chair and caressed its intertwined serpentine dragons.

  “He did deliver on the Roe overturn, something we thought might never happen.”

  “Good riddance to that abomination. More than fifty years,” Carrington said. He shook his head and said a silent prayer for the millions of babies killed since that ruling came down in 1973.